


The Golden Hour

by Kru



Series: of witchers and bards [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathtub Sex, Brothels, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostitution Roleplay, Shameless Smut, and he gets for it what he deserves, basically Jaskier pretends to be someone who he isn't, it's not this one but equally important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru
Summary: “You’re not a very obedient servant,” he notices, slightly opening his eyes. “I’ll have to tell Margot she made a wrong investment.”Jaskier smiles brightly as he put his hands on both sides of the witcher’s head, resting them on the pool’s rim above his arms.“Will you punish me?” The bard murmurs, leaning to his ear. “Tell me what you want.”Geralt arches his eyebrows in a mockery of disbelief, whispering, “Now you want to respect my wish?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: of witchers and bards [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626238
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1098
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I finally wrote that bath scene ;) Also, yes, Jaskier has crazy ideas but what is new, right?
> 
> I hope you'll like it!
> 
> Again beted by the most amazing person who greatiously puts up with my mistakes - [locktea](https://locktea.tumblr.com/)

He sees the Rosebud from afar; the huge windows lit by the warm glow from inside, its red lanterns calling in bypassers and its lavish trimmings, shining in the last minutes of the golden hour. The street is still almost empty. He knows the business isn’t open yet. Well, at least not fully, he thinks. After all, brothels are open day and night, accepting guests anytime if they’re willing to pay what’s requested. But at this time, everyone is mostly still busy with their errands, taking advantage of the last rays of sunshine.

Soon those streets will start to fill up with people seeking entertainment. Oxenfurt’s lanes, nooks, and crannies are one of a kind when it comes to that. They burst with life. They lure with colors and aromas. They call with sounds of music and laughter. The never-ending crowd of students, lecturers, travelers, and adventure seekers play and get lost in those streets, proving that every corner, every turn hides something new, fascinating and full of promise.

Geralt also looks for something here. Or rather someone. Someone whom he didn’t lose and yet he’s been difficult to find for at least a few hours now. He doesn’t panic. Not yet at least. There is still the last place to check. The witcher also doubts that Jaskier already managed to get himself in trouble. If he did, those few hours could have been a new record.

He and Jaskier split when they reached town’s gates this morning. The bard said something about visiting his friends at the university. Geralt had different plans. He wanted to visit a herbalist at Thinker's Park and maybe buy new armor pads. But that’s unimportant. What’s important is that they agreed to meet in Three Little Bells in three hours from the time on the tower clock, but Jaskier wasn’t there. Geralt didn’t find him at the academy either. He visited two of Jaskier’s other favorite inns, and now he aims for the last place he could think of – Jaskier’s preferred brothel. Gods only know why the bard would go there, but for Jaskier’s sake and his sanity, Geralt prays he’s there.

The witcher never has the pleasure of a visit to the Rosebud. From those establishments, high class and expensive, his kind is still banished, even if most working girls welcome witchers more willingly into their beds now. It might be thanks to Jaskier’s ballads, the ones that praise their abilities and blessings, for which Geralt’s brothers always thank the bard. Still, no one cares what whores prefer and the endless amount of songs isn’t going to convince brothel owners that witchers aren’t filthy degenerates.

With Jaskier, however, it’s different. Most of the time he doesn’t have money, yet he’s favored in many fine whorehouses. Geralt suspects it has something to do with his quick wits and silver tongue, with how he can make you think you are his whole world, and with how he can let you feel like the most important person in his life. The witcher can imagine that this can earn him entrance to any place, the bawdy house, king’s court or even Tor Lara if he ever needed to put his back into it. Geralt also knows how that feels. He’s been on the receiving end of it for the last few months. Months that have been filled with a lot of pleasure. Pleasure that he never has to ask for. Pleasure that he always wants. Pleasure that he always gets. In inns. On the road. In the woods. On the grass. As many times as the journey allows. And in as many places as they can imagine. For Geralt this is perfect. For Jaskier… It seems now not so much.

He isn’t angry though. Why should he be? He has never been enough for anyone, so he’s used to that feeling. And Jaskier is a man. He knows things that many women cannot even imagine doing in bed. He’s been to many places, slept with many people. In other words - Jaskier has many needs. Geralt also shouldn’t think that he’s able to fulfill them all. He suspected that this might happen so, no, he isn’t angry. He’s a little bit disappointed. Mainly he is disappointed that it happened so fast. He thought that he wouldn’t have to share the bard with anyone else for at least a few more months. But he’s ready to face it and the only thing he wants from Jaskier is for him to be honest.

When he puts his hand on the doorknob, he is ready to say all that to the bard. He is ready to tell him that it’s alright to want more, that he understands and that he still wants him. How pathetic, he thinks, entering the brothel. But that’s how it is, and it always will be. Once he decides to love someone, he’s always going to stay this way. No matter what.

The thought circulates his mind when he steps further inside. He expects to be hushed out immediately but even though his presence is noticed, he isn’t approached by a guard. Instead, a woman appears at his side. She is older and fully clothed in airy fabrics that still leave not much to the imagination.

“You must be the famous Geralt of Rivia?” She says with a surprisingly honest smile. “We have been expecting you.”

“We? Ah…” Geralt asks and then realizes quickly. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Jaskier,” the witcher presses through clenched teeth, “The bard?”

“Oh, right,” the woman, the bawd probably, says, fluttering eyelashes. “He isn’t here, but someone is waiting for you in one of our best rooms,” she continues, pulling him by the arm further inside.

Geralt swears under his breath but he lets her guide him. If he knows better, and he does, he needs to go through with it and then politely decline. The only thing he knows for sure is that Jaskier must be out of his mind if he thinks that it’s Geralt who needs something more, and this something can be found in a brothel.

The bawd tells him facts about the establishment as they take the stairs to the second floor and then follow a narrow corridor. In a low, confidential voice she talks about its rules for discretion, its long traditions, its best escorts and clients in high places. She praises the décor, created for maximum intimacy and comfort and gives him hints of what else, apart from the finest company, she can procure. Good food, the best beverages, baths, and comfortable clothes. All that is his for the night.

Geralt feels his growing irritation and fear. This is the last thing he expected to find here. This is also the last thing he expected from Jaskier. So when they reach the end of the corridor and she opens an oak door for him, the witcher holds his breath. And when he sees a known face inside, he lets it out in a long, audible grunt.

There, on a massive bed covered in red silk and furs lies Jaskier, all stretched out and comfortable. His clothes match the décor of the room. He wears a few layers of transparent satin that oscillate in the last rays of sunshine and candles afterglow. Because of that, the witcher can see almost every detail of his body. His sun-kissed skin, every curve of muscles and every delicious line. Jaskier’s hair is disheveled like he just spent the whole day in bed with strangers. His eyes are underlined by kohl that brings the animalistic green to them even more as he follows Geralt’s every move in complete anticipation. In other words, he looks like any other prostitute. Well, not any. Truth to be told Jaskier makes an insanely handsome, fairly blessed and well-kept prostitute.

Geralt needs to shake his head to get this though out of it and return to being angry. But before he’s able to even say a word, the woman again puts her hand lightly on his arm to call for attention.

“You have a whole, full day with our new…” she breaks, looking quickly at the bard and when Jaskier nods barely visible, she continues, “Our new acquisition. You can do with it whatever you please. He’s here for you to command. If you want someone to join, anyone, just ring the bell. If you need more food or wine, do the same. If you need some additional equipment–”

“Let me guess, ring the bell?” Geralt deadpans.

“Well, you do learn quickly,” she marvels, smiling delightedly when she lowers her tone to add, “There is only one more matter to settle. I’d like to clear the payment now.”

The witcher only glances at Jaskier before he forces a smile and presses every word through clenched teeth, “How much will I have to pay for this rare pleasure?”

“Merely a hundred crowns,” the woman chants and already puts out her palm.

“Son of a bi–” the witcher starts but he swallows the rest of the word as he unties one of two pouches from his belt and presses it into her hand.

She leaves with a gracious bow, leaving them alone. Geralt still stays near the door as he focuses his attention on the bard. He spreads his hands in an unspoken question, as he slowly approaches the bed.

“Jaskier,” he says flatly, trying to be calm and failing, “What the fuck is all that?”

“Do you like it?” Jaskier finally asks, beaming when he stretches even more.

“Do I like it?” Geralt answers slowly, nodding as he looks around and says, “I just paid half of all we have for a night with a man that I bed almost every night anyway.”

“You don’t like it,” the bard concludes and Geralt can sense resignation playing in his voice. “Anyway, you found me in an unexpectedly fast manner.”

“What would you do if I did?”

“I would have sent someone to procure you?” Jaskier proposes matter-of-factly.

The witcher hums a vague response as only now he sees a lavishly set table. There is also another door in the room. They are ajar, revealing a bath chamber. Everything is covered with candlelight as the sun just disappears behind the horizon, bringing even more intimacy.

He huffs out a long sigh, giving up. He looks back at Jaskier again who seems to have lost some of his confidence. He gathered himself from the pillows and, kneeling on the bed, he moves closer. His clothes float around his body with every motion, making it impossible not to see how much he still enjoys it.

“Geralt,” he starts softly, knowing perfectly well the effect he makes when he comes even closer and whispers. “We already paid for everything, so why not to revel in it?”

The witcher presses another smile, grunting under his breath. He moves back in the same moment the bard leans further to catch his lips.

Jaskier is right. They should make the most of it. Most of the bed, the bath, and all that food and wine. It doesn’t mean Geralt is going to give to him the one thing the bard wants the most and planned for. He will make Jaskier beg for it, he thinks, when he walks to the table. After all, it's him who missed brothels so much that he felt he needed to drag him here.

The bard whines loudly as Geralt drops on one of the chairs and sees that at least for now there is no chance to move with his plan.

“If I have known how you act around whores, I would have never felt jealous every time you rented one before,” he exclaims with a long huff, falling back into the pillows.

Geralt snorts, tearing one of the chicken legs and asks before biting in it, “We haven’t eaten properly for a week and I had you last night, so forgive my impaired priorities.”

The bard moves on the bed and settles on his side. The witcher observes him from above the wine cup as he drinks greedily. Jaskier is beautiful. Purely beautiful. And it’s not only his looks that make him as such, but his appeal comes from something deeper, something inside him. From the way he moves, all elegant and smooth. From the way he says things, making every word sound almost obscene. Or in the way he can look at Geralt, provoking and demanding. And then comes all the rest. How Jaskier smells, how he tastes and feels against Geralt’s hands. It all works like an enchantment to which the witcher can’t be and doesn’t want to be immune. But now, in this role, he somehow looks and feels even more alluring. It’s not the fact that he pretends to be a prostitute. For Geralt, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have any strong feelings for this profession. In a way, he even thinks that what he does for a living doesn’t fall far from the same area. Because of that, he always treats a working woman, and sometimes men, in the same way as he treats most – with polite reserve. And of course, he used to benefit a lot from those kinds of services whenever he could afford and had time, but it'd always been a mere convenience rather than preference. So no, it isn’t the fact that Jaskier pretends to be a whore that makes Geralt’s pants feel painfully tight. It’s rather how he suddenly oozes with even more confidence and charm. It’s similar to how he looks when he performs, but this time it’s all directed toward Geralt, private and confident. It drags from the witcher some kind of sense of full ownership over Jaskier, over his body, but also his soul. And this drags some deeply hidden, almost primal needs from the inside of him, making him want the bard even more. Still, he wants to pay him a lesson, so he just moves on the chair, trying to collect himself, and turns his attention on the food in front of him.

Jaskier sighs again, feeling ignored and completely unaware of what’s going on in Geralt’s head.

“Alright, alright,” he finally bursts. “Please do tell me what is wrong with this plan?”

“For one, male prostitution is illegal,” Geralt starts and goes for the rest of the chicken as he resumes, “If the municipal police raided this place tonight, you’d hang in the main market square tomorrow.”

“Oh please, all council members visit this bawdy house. And let me tell you, I saw at least half of them taking young boys to their beds,” Jaskier snorts and winces, adding, “It wasn’t as pleasant view as one might think.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll hang there with you,” the witcher continues, taking care of a bowl with baked potatoes, speculating further, “Probably, they’d castrate me first to make an example because, on top of being what I am, I also fuck men. Then they’d hang me. Naked.”

“You know how to kill the mood,” Jaskier murmurs.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, meaning to be softer but it comes out harsh. He drops on the back of the chair, trying to not to rekindle their old argument as he starts, “They–”

“I know, I know, no one can know about us,” the bard interrupts him. “But I've been friends with Margot for ages. She owes me big time. Also, we can always try to pretend to be regular guests and send for two girls.”

The witcher sends him an annoyed glance, washing the taste of food down with wine.

“Or not,” Jaskier counteroffers quickly. “My point is, we are here. Together. Safe and sound. With this huge bed and as much wine as we want. And you are full and content so can you please come here and ravish me already?”

“No,” Geralt says firmly.

“No?”

“I’m taking a bath,” he decides. “Alone.”

Jaskier grunts loudly and falls into the duvets again. He makes the gesture extra dramatic when he sighs a few more times, saying some curses under his breath.

Geralt smiles barely visible but he collects himself quickly as not to give away too much. When he walks to the washroom, he feels Jaskier’s eyes on his back, but the bard doesn’t follow him. Yet.

He enters the space welcomed by a wave of heat. The effect is amplified because of a vast pool filled with hot water. It takes up the center of the chamber, surrounded by candles and all sorts of soaps and scents that might make the bathing experience even more pleasurable. The water’s color is cloudy, probably enriched with oils and milk. It lures with the smell of lavender and rosemary. It’s how Jaskier smells. It’s how happiness feels for Geralt now.

This time he doesn’t control his smile. He breathes in with contentment, starting to take his armor off. One piece after another falls on the marble floor, releasing him from its pressure.

He feels lighter without it. Free even. He somehow seems like a different person. Someone without all those duties, all the rules put on his kind and all the obligations he earned through his life. Here he doesn’t feel like a pariah. He feels like any other man. Only Geralt. And it is mostly thanks to Jaskier. Jaskier who of course followed him here.

He sensed him a few moments ago but it’s when his pants drop on the floor, he hears a long, shuttered exhale. It comes from the direction of the door. Geralt doesn’t turn though. He just slowly submerges in the water. The irritation he felt when he saw the bard on the brothel’s bed is gone completely. As always, he cannot be angry with him. He even can’t last in being mildly annoyed, but he still wants to tease Jaskier a little bit more. After all, he spent the whole afternoon looking for the bard. It’s just fair if he waits a little bit longer in return.

Only when the warmth fully encloses his body, he turns and rests his back on the opposite edge of the bath. He stretches his arms comfortably on its rim, breathing out when hot waves wash over his tired muscles. Jaskier leans on the door frame, observing his every move.

“I thought you were supposed to do as I command?” The witcher asks in a low voice, looking at the bard with half-opened eyes.

“I still didn’t join you, did I?”

Geralt hums in response, closing his eyes completely. There is maybe a heartbeat of silence and he thinks the bard gave up, but then suddenly his sensitive senses catch a subtle rustle of fabric and not long after that he feels the delicate movement of water as Jaskier slowly steps in. To the witcher's surprise, the bard gets straight to the point, diving in and straddling Geralt’s lap in one smooth motion.

“You’re not a very obedient servant,” he notices, slightly opening his eyes. “I’ll have to tell Margot she made a wrong investment.”

Jaskier smiles brightly as he put his hands on both sides of the witcher’s head, resting them on the pool’s rim above his arms.

“Will you punish me?” The bard murmurs, leaning to his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Geralt arches his eyebrows in a mockery of disbelief, whispering, “Now you want to respect my wish?”

He dips his arms in the water close to where Jaskier’s lags press to his sides, but he still doesn’t touch the other man. His fingers float near, his fingertips skim Jaskier’s skin barely there, but he still feels the shiver that runs through the bard’s body.

“Wash me,” he demands, suddenly moving up and putting his hands on Jaskier’s hips to bring him closer.

The other man bites back a moan. The motion collides their ready bodies. Geralt can sense how hard Jaskier is. His length presses into his abdomen, throbbing. He isn’t in a better state. His cock is trapped under the bard, sliding through the tensed muscles of his ass with even the smallest movement.

“You want me to wash you? Now?” Jaskier asks honestly surprised.

Geralt hums in lieu of confirmation, smiling cunningly as he tries to catch the other man’s gaze. He moves one hand from his hip and runs it gently on Jaskier’s back, digging his fingertips in slick skin. When he finally reaches his neck, he cups it softly and holds Jaskier’s chin up to force him to look back. The bard’s eyes are filled with want. Gods, there is so much want, Geralt just wants to crush Jaskier in his arms and never let him go. And he’s about to give up the game, and bite into those delicious lips when the bard whispers:

“Your wish is my command.”

“Good, go on then” the witcher murmurs and he breaks their contact moving swiftly back. He returns to his previous position, resting arms on the pool’s edge to give Jaskier more space.

Jaskier seems to take the challenge the witcher’s words meant to evoke. He smiles suddenly bright. The mischief is visible in his eyes when he stretches to reach for the soap. His lips are near to Geralt’s again but gone too fast as the bard already returns to his previous position, making himself comfortable on the man’s lap. His hips make gentle, barely sensible circles, provoking a reaction in Geralt’s body.

The witcher breathes in sharply. His head drops onto the stone as he tries to hold on to his body’s responses to prolong the pleasure. He closes his eyes, limiting his senses further. He thinks that maybe if he doesn’t see all that beauty in front of him, all that wet, silk-like skin, lean muscles that conjure into a sum of graceful lines and curves, he will be able last longer. But he might be lost anyway.

When he feels Jaskier’s hands on him, satin from oils and soap, he startles and arches for more contact. It happens without his control. And with every stroke and touch, he loses more and more of it. The bard puts his palms flat on his shoulders and smooths them over to his arms. Fingers dig deep into his muscles. The touch is painful but so pleasurable that Geralt has to hold on the rim of the pool as not to put his hands on the other man. Jaskier’s fingers, however, don’t stop there. He runs them back and then drags only his fingertips through Geralt’s chest and lower over his abandon to suddenly stop just where the water line begins. He presses whole palms to the witcher’s skin, coming back again where he started. Every move is accompanied by the motion of his whole body, all liquid and persuading, sliding in and out.

Jaskier repeats this ritual over and over again. It almost feels like he tells a prayer with his hands over Geralt’s body. He’s quiet and obedient. He’s focused. His touch is strong. His moves are deliberate. He’s there to give pleasure, confined only to those gestures and this role.

The thought of it is excruciating. Geralt realizes that he has some power over this body and that Jaskier is only his. And this again provokes the same primal want. The witcher just can’t stand not to touch and just take anymore. He holds his head up and catches the bard’s gaze momentarily, seeing that Jaskier is in no better state. He’s so completely undone. All panting, blushed and ready. Just beautiful.

At this sight, almost like in a fight, all his senses are suddenly heightened to the maximum. But it’s not the work of his potions. It’s all Jaskier. So Geralt reacts in a heartbeat. He moves fast, dropping his arm and holding bard’s hands to his chest to suddenly bring them closer and crush their lips together.

Jaskier makes a strangled, surprised noise but then he melts into the kiss. He lets the witcher enclose him, wrapped in his arms as he opens for more. Having his silent consent, Geralt bites deeper, hungry and desperate. His hands are everywhere now, trying to bring the bard even closer. His lips leave the other man’s mouth to travel over his skin. He kisses everywhere he can reach, Jaskier’s chin, jaw, his cheeks.

The bard doesn’t want to fall behind. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck to bring him nearer. His fingers slip into the witcher’s hair, ruining them completely as he tries to guide him. His hips make frantic moves now as he hastily searches for any friction, arching in Geralt’s arms to be closer but also give him more access.

Geralt puts his hands on the bard's hips, trying to control the rhythm but he just ends up crushing the other man's muscles in an attempt to stop him from pushing into Jaskier’s body.

“Do as you want,” Jaskier breathes out words together with a moan like he could read his mind. He leans to Geralt’s ear and murmurs, “I prepared myself earlier.”

The witcher groans against the bard’s skin as he licks his way up Jaskier’s neck and back to his lips. He kisses hungrily when his palms flatly move on the other man’s sides. He suddenly smashes them hard into Jaskier’s muscles to draw them apart. His fingers reach further. He can easily slip into the bard’s wanting body. Even though the water has already washed away some of the oil there, Jaskier is still nicely stretched and incredibly hot inside.

Geralt breaks the kiss to look swiftly at the bard. It takes a moment for the man to focus on him as he chases the witcher’s lips when Geralt says low and serious, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” Jaskier asks shakily, as he tries to push back into Geralt’s finger.

“That,” the witcher grunts and presses another finger in hard, tearing from the bard’s lungs a long, shuddered whimper. “Don’t. Do it. Without me,” he says, giving the man one deep thrust of his knuckles for each word.

Jaskier nods frantically and he wants to drop his head but Geralt frees one of his hands and holds the bard’s chin, forcing him to look.

“Say it,” he demands, reaching inside Jaskier's body even deeper.

“I won’t do it,” Jaskier breathes out, biting his lips as the pleasure takes over him for a moment.

“And swear you won’t pretend to be a prostitute ever again.”

“Geralt,” the bard begs desperate and lost in the sensation as he rocks his hips back, but the witcher makes a move to take his finger out completely so he quickly whispers, “I won’t… I won’t, I promise, I swear to all the damn Gods-o-oh my dear life,” he moans when Geralt suddenly pushes all three fingers in.

“Good,” the witcher says under his breath before he kisses Jaskier one more time.

This time he does it slower. The rhythm matches a steady staccato of his finger. As they slide in and out, unhurried and attentive, he fucks Jaskier’s mouth, bites, and licks in again and again. Just like previously bard’s hands were giving him pleasure, now he wants to give it back.

“Turn around,” he whispers between kisses.

Jaskier looks at him completely disoriented but then he catches up and moves back. Geralt takes his hand off of him, kissing the bard quickly one more time before his warmth is gone. Not for long, however. When Jaskier turns standing in the water, the witcher rests his chin on his shoulder, aligning to the shape of his back. One of his arms wraps around the man’s waist, bringing him even closer with a determined motion. His other hands find its place on Jaskier’s hips instantly, trying to guide him and finding just the right position.

“Move up,” he says, and it comes out rough and demanding.

Jaskier moves back even more, rocking against his ready body and Geralt has to shut his eyes and bite his lips to keep from coming now, just from rubbing against the other man’s ass.

“Geralt, please,” Jaskier whimpers, shaking in his arm noticeably as he pants, “I won’t hold for long.”

At that the witcher’s hands moves on their own accord. Without looking, he tries to find any bottle. As he feels them under his palm, rushing for anything that will fit, he knocks a few to the water. Finally, he finds something and pours it generously over their connected bodies. The need to be close is so overwhelming that he only wastes a moment to oil his length and guide it inside Jaskier.

He pushes hard. It’s far less gentle then he likes and wants but they are both on the edge, falling apart completely even after this one thrust. When he manages to finally move the room explodes with Jaskier cry. He’s loud. Normally, he is. But now he just mumbles Geralt’s name over and over again with every move of the witcher’s hips. He rocks rough but deep. He even doesn’t care about the rhythm. He just wants to reach for more. His hands are wrapped around Jaskier painfully now. His lips close on the delicate skin of the bard’s shoulder. He holds himself from biting, but the pleasure… Gods, the pleasure is so damn overbearing. It builds inside him. It fills him in. Over and over. Harder and deeper.

“Jaskier,” he grunts, mouthing over soft skin just under the man’s ear, “Fuck, you’re perfect, you are–” he huffs and realizes he’s whispering this again and again, with every thrust.

And then it’s too much. He closes his eyes and hides his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. He feels that the bard’s head falls back onto his shoulder. Jaskier’s arms wrap around his. He entangles their fingers together. He’s all over Geralt. The witcher is rooted deep inside him. He feels the pulsating muscles around him. Jaskier trembles and swears and says words that are just one long cry when suddenly everything stills. The pleasure overtakes them. It fills them to the brim and then suddenly overflows completely.

It seems that the moment lasts hours. They stand there, still pressed to one another, still wrapped in each other. Geralt doesn’t make a single attempt to move. He just holds Jaskier tight and close, waiting for their breaths to calm down. And then suddenly Jaskier laughs. It’s one of those light, carefree laughs that make his voice sound so much younger.

The witcher holds his head up, murmuring to the bard’s ear, “What?” as he cannot hold from smiling himself.

“You must admit that my plan was good after all,” Jaskier says with pride easily noticeable in his voice.

Geralt snorts but he isn’t able to hold on from leaving a soft kiss on the bard’s neck. Then as he gently withdraws, he leaves another one on his shoulder, and another lower at his back.

Jaskier turns in his arms. His face is still heated by what happened moments ago but seems to be calm and content as he pushes the witcher back to ease him into the water again.

“You can deny as much as you want but I know you liked it.”

“What did I like?” The witcher asks, back to his previous position, spread comfortably in front of the bard.

The water is lukewarm now. It smells like a mixture of all the oils and scents Geralt knocked down. Their greasy stains flood the surface, dancing around their tired bodies.

Jaskier takes some forgotten cloth from the pool’s side and starts to clean the witcher in lazy strokes as he finally answers, “You liked me being at your every command.”

“Hmm,” Geralt only murmurs, letting Jaskier wash from him the last traces of their fulfillment. When the bard’s hand hovers over his heart, he stops it with his own and presses it to his skin, saying quietly, “Jaskier?”

The bard looks up, locking his gaze with him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Why did you set all this up?” He asks seriously again.

Jaskier startles slightly, but the witcher can still sense hesitation before the bard answers, “Oh, the usual, really… With us being on the road all the time and worrying about primal things like food and a safe place to sleep, we don’t have time for this kind of sophisticated experiments.”

“So, you had to pretend to be a prostitute?” Geralt insists, taking the washer from the bard's hands to soak it and start to return the favor. “You couldn’t just rent the best room in Three Little Bells?”

“Well,” Jaskier starts, allowing the witcher to smooth the fabric over his tired muscles as he tries again, “The room was occupied? Besides you’ve never been to a place like this before for obvious reasons and I wanted to take you to a really special spot.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says firmly and stops.

The man drops his arms into the water, splashing it. He winces at something that he still holds back, visibly thinking of how to express it. His eyes follow the oil stains in the water around his hands as he slowly skims the surface.

He finally asks, “Do you remember how I went alone to the baths in Gors Velen?”

“When I went to Thanedd,” Geralt confirms.

Jaskier nods slowly, still not looking at the witcher when he takes the cloth back from Geralt’s hands to dips it gently as he continues, “I meet there the blond witch with those hug–”

“Sabrina Glevissig.”

“How is it that you know all of them?” Jaskier asks, finally meeting his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject,” Geralt warns him.

He pushes off of the pool’s rim to move closer again and asks carefully, “What did she do?”

“She asked about you and Yennefer,” the bard explains earnestly. “And she said that she can understand if you’re not together anymore, because people like you, Yenna or her, living as long as you do, get easily bored.”

“Ah,” Geralt only sighs, smiling suddenly.

He tries to take the washer from the bard, but the man smacks his hands.

“What ‘ah’?” Jaskier demands. “What is that smile supposed to mean?”

The witcher manages to catch the bard’s hands, making him stop with a firm hold. Then he runs his fingers through Jaskier’s arms, up to his neck and further to cup his face. He strokes softly, his cheek, his lips, the tip of his ear, as he confesses gently:

“I thought that you were bored with me.”

He can see how the man’s gaze changes when the meaning of his words spreads in Jaskier’s mind. It’s a beautiful spectacle of emotions. From apprehension to amazement. From amazement to understanding. From understanding to relief.

“On my way here,” Geralt starts to explain as his fingers slip between the bard’s hair. He slowly wets them with every move as he continues, “I thought that you came here because you need something more.”

“I came here because I thought that you might want something different.”

“I don’t,” Geralt says simply and holding Jaskier’s chin up, he draws the bard in for a kiss but before he takes the last inch, he whispers to make sure, “Do you?”

“Never,” Jaskier admits in a heartbeat and closes the distance himself.


	2. All For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you also think that Jaskier would write a ballad after every night with Geralt? ^^'

Your touch

warm like

sudden Summer rain.

My skin

is finally

woken up by it.

Every word

Every look

Every laugh.

It's all for you.

It's all for you.

To take

To have

To care.

Your kisses

hungry like

all those lonely days.

My lips

open

to taste it.

Every word

Every look

Every laugh.

It's all for you.

It's all for you.

To take

To have

To care.

And it was my secret

To want only you.

I could die with your name

as my last breath.

But then you opened you eyes.

To see only me.

And you opened your heart

To take me in.


	3. Chapter 3

My incredibly talented friend [Kala-Fiorek](https://kala-fiorek.tumblr.com/post/616393972549632000/commission-for-lovely-leeeeeex-and-her-story-the) draw this as a commission for this story. 

I still can't get over how well she presented the feeling of the fic and all the details. Now I can close my eyes and really imagine them together.

I wanted to share it with you so you can feel it too.

(And if you are in need of even more incredibly beautiful fanarts go over Kala's tumblr [here](https://kala-fiorek.tumblr.com)!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another visualization :D


End file.
